


Life, the Universe and Everything

by round_robin



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Drunk Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:19:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2260878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine times out of ten, Damon could charm (or Compel) the Grill’s bartender to let him and Alaric stay a little longer after close. Tonight was the one time he couldn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life, the Universe and Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to wait until I was current with the show to start writing fic for it (just finished season four) but Veil Alaric talking with Damon, and the whole locker 42 thing was too hard to resist. I'm coming from the Sherlock fandom, so I find the low number of fics here to be a challenge. I will be contributing more, hopefully, much, much more.
> 
> Not beta'd. If you find a typo, please include it along with your comment and it'll be caught and shot. As always, enjoy.

Nine times out of ten, Damon could charm (or Compel) the Grill’s bartender to let him and Alaric stay a little longer after close. Tonight was the one time he couldn’t, as tonight’s bartender was a Fell. One of the younger cousins who wasn’t yet in on the family/town secret, but still had a charming old silver antique bracelet, which had been passed through the family for generations, and which also contained vervain. They gave it up as a bad job and started wandering drunkenly through the streets.

Damon wasn’t completely sure where they were when Alaric grabbed his shoulder, turning them around. “Thus way,” he slurred. Damon let himself be led.

When he saw the school rising in the distance, he grabbed Alaric’s shirt sleeve to stop him. “Didn’t you just tell me? You had to clean out your desk for the summer and take all your booze home.” What seemed like aimless wandering had really been a roundabout sort of way back to the Salvatore Boarding House. More alcohol lived there and Damon wanted it. With Alaric’s stash gone for the summer, the school was no use to them right now.

Alaric’s eyes sparkled in a very drunk, or very alluring way, Damon wasn’t quite sure which. “Is-a surprise.” He grabbed Damon’s arm again and hauled him inside.

They walked through the empty halls, the remains of student end of year celebrations all over the floor: paper wads; loose pens kicked off to the side, unneeded for three glorious months; and a few ripped pages that looked like they came out of textbooks. Damon examined the scraps from the distance and noticed a few dates, 1862... they probably came from the history books. Good thing Alaric was too drunk to care.

He stopped them in front of a bank of lockers and smirked again. Damon looked around for half a second, but when no answer immediately presented itself, he held his arms out in surrender. “What?” he grumbled. “Show me whatever it is so we can get back to drinking.”

Alaric lifted his arms and gestured to locker forty-two. “I give you,” he said, “the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything.” With one sharp hit to the hinges, the locker swung open, an unopened bottle of bourbon shining out at them.

Damon rolled his eyes and reached for the bottle. “Nerd.”

“Share,” Alaric said, grabbing it back from him. He opened the cap and took a swig before handing it over. “You can’t hold a perfect pun against me.”

“Can.” He took a drink. “Will.”

They passed the bottle back and forth for a few minutes. “You know, I met Douglas Adams once. He was surprisingly chill,” Damon said.

“Nuh-uh,” Alaric said, swinging the bottle from side to side, because shaking his head would probably make him throw up. “You can’t try and impress me with that. Adams died in this century. I was old enough to meet him.”

“Yes,” Damon agreed and wrapped his hand around the bottle, tugging it from Alaric’s loose grip. “But you didn’t.”

“You have to give me something better if you want me to be impressed,” Alaric said.

He leaned back on the lockers for support, the metal biting into his shoulder. They’d been much, much more drunk for much, much longer, but Alaric could tell even Damon was starting to feel it. He leaned against the lockers too, half on Alaric. Alaric shifted so he didn’t have a lock trying to dislocate his shoulder and let Damon lean on him.

“I got it,” Damon said after a few minutes of silence. “Did you know, Pickett was a woman?”

It took him a second to process that statement. “Pickett? As in: Pickett’s Charge, Pickett?”

Damon smirked and took another drink. “Impressed now?”

Even in a haze of alcohol, Alaric still had enough historian in his head to ask, “How do you know?”

“I was in the Confederate army,” Damon said. “Word traveled. Pickett, the real one, never served a day in the army. It was his sister, Mary Sue. George Pickett died from TB before he was even of age. She stepped in when the family’s,” he lifted his hands and made sarcastic air quotes, “ ‘great military tradition’ was at stake.” He leaned in closer. “Apparently, the beard was all her. They woulda drummed her out if she didn’t keep winning.”

Alaric made a mental note to follow up on this tomorrow, probably after his head stopped hurting. “Wow,” he said dumbly.

Everything got quiet again. Damon held the half-empty bottle against this stomach, silencing the soft swish of it being passed back and forth. They stood there, leaning against the lockers, not talking about anything for a few more minutes.

“Damon,” Alaric said. He didn’t continue.

“Ric,” Damon countered.

“How long do you think we can do this?”

“Do what? Drink?” he asked. “I’d say until the bottle’s gone.”

Alaric waved a hand. “Nah, I’ve got another one in the top of the locker. I meant this: how we live. Constantly clinging to the calm nights between the disasters, drinking ourselves stupid just to pass the time until our lives are in danger again.”

“Well... since I’m an immortal vampire, and you have the magic no-dead ring, our lives are never technically in danger.”

Alaric rolled his eyes and elbowed Damon. “I’m serious. I set out to be a vampire hunter, knowing full well what I was getting into. This is turning out to be deeper and darker than any deep dark thing I came across in the search for Isobel.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “If I can barely handle this, how can I expect the kids to?”

“Okay, you’re getting maudlin. You know the rules about that.” Damon got to his feet and closed the bottle, returning it to the locker. He grabbed the sides of Alaric’s face and tried to get the round, wet eyes to focus on him. “We need to get your mind on something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like this.”

Damon leaned forward, pressing against full, supple lips. Alaric’s mouth dropped open after the first confused second, and his hands came up to grip Damon’s arms. He slid his tongue into Alaric’s mouth, seeking out little tingling tastes of tonight’s whiskey.

“Wait, wait.” Alaric pushed Damon away, but kept his hands on him. “Are we drunk enough for this?” They’d done it before and neither doubted they’d do it again someday, Alaric just wanted to be sure this was the right time. Damon’s California King pillow top mattress would feel a lot better on his aching back.

“Well, I’m drunk enough for it,” Damon said. “Which means you’re drunk enough too.” He pushed in for another kiss and cupped his hands around Alaric’s neck, thumbs coming to brush along his strong, stubbly jaw.

Dropping one hand to Alaric’s belt, he started pulling open the button fly and working his way into Alaric’s boxer briefs. He moaned against Damon’s lips and bucked into his hand, his own arms flailing for something to hold on to. They slipped against the metal lockers and the ubiquitous 70’s lead paint covered cinder blocks of the school walls.

Damon’s free hand reached out and laced their fingers together. “Don’t worry,” he whispered against Alaric’s lips. “I’ve got you. You know I always do.”

He nodded and returned his hand to Damon’s hips, fingers curling and holding onto him for life. Long fingers continued their tortuous but oh-so-right strokes up and down Alaric’s cock. “Uh, oh fuck,” he mumbled into the kiss.

Damon stroked him from root to tip, keeping his grip light so he didn’t abuse un-lubricated skin. If only Ric had thought far enough ahead to store a bottle of KY in with the bourbon, he thought. Oh well, hindsight and all that.

Using his vamp speed, he unbuckled his own jeans and pulled himself out. Precome gushed from Alaric’s slit, and Damon knew what that meant. He pressed the hot flesh together and stroked them both, the gooey squelching noises getting louder and more obscene with every movement. Damon loved it. He loved bringing this person—rough around the edges but still so stubbornly moral, it made Damon want to scream—to a place where he was flayed completely open with pleasure and could care less about the world. It was amazing to watch, even better to be the one who made it happen.

No longer willing to be a passive participant, Alaric broke the kiss for a moment and bit down on his own lip hard enough to draw blood. Little rivulets welled up and dripped down his lips for Damon to catch with his tongue. “Ric,” he moaned.

It wasn’t a deep cut and after a few swipes, it was already clotted. Damon licked at the remaining blood on Alaric’s bottom lip. “You’re too good to me,” he said.

“Just fucking get me off,” Alaric growled back, grabbing Damon’s hips again.

A few more strokes and that was it. Alaric’s shouts echoed off the halls, his come pouring over Damon’s fingers. With a growl and a moan, Damon came too, adding to the mess between them. He shuddered through the last few strokes, milking them both for that very last drop.

Alaric appeared to sober up first. “Damn it,” he said. His hands dropped away from Damon and the mess, he looked around for something to clean up with. He nodded towards the door behind them. “Bathroom.”

Damon pushed Alaric back, stopping him from moving. “Not yet,” he said. “Just... give it a second? Haven’t you ever heard of afterglow?”

“Yes, I have,” Alaric chuckled. “I didn’t think the great Damon Salvatore was much for it.”

His usual smirk sliding away, Damon locked eyes with Alaric. “One day,” he said, “we’re going to get so completely smashed, you’ll let me take you home. And then,” he leaned in to whisper in his ear, “you’ll feel the full benefits vamp sex can really offer.”

Alaric nodded. “You won’t be happy until you’ve ruined me for anyone else, will you?”

“Nope,” Damon said with a smirk.

Finally, he pulled back. They looked a little silly standing together with their limp and glistening cocks out for the world to see, but they needed to clean up before any sort of pride could be regained. Damon nodded towards the bathroom. “C’mon.”

They went and cleaned away any sticky trace, buttoned and zipped until they were back to being the town drunks again. Damon walked Alaric back to the house. The walk sobered them up a little and he wasn’t worried that Alaric might die in his sleep. Still, he lingered at the door like a great first date that shouldn’t end. “See you tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yeah. Barring any sudden apocalypse.” They both pretended to laugh. Knowing their luck, it would probably rain toads tomorrow.

“Don’t forget,” Damon said as he walked back down the porch steps, “look up that Pickett thing tomorrow morning. You’ll be awed at how right I am.” Alaric rolled his eyes and closed the door.

Alone for the first time that night, Damon took a second to stare back at the Gilbert house. He shook himself and turned away. “Just drunk sex,” he whispered to himself. “Really, really good drunk sex.” As he walked home, Damon kept licking his lips, tasting the last little flavors of Alaric’s blood.

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> The General Pickett thing is [completely true.](http://worldnewsdailyreport.com/usa-confederate-war-general-revealed-to-be-a-woman/)


End file.
